At Sea, Aug. 1, 1797.
From the unsteady ocean, my pen eagerly announces to you that, after our
tedious suspense, we are at length embarked on board the Roebuck packet,
and proceeding on our passage to Jamaica.
We pay ten guineas each for our births, food, drink, and all other
necessaries included. To the credit of the captain, the mess is
liberally supplied, being furnished with an ample store of excellent
provisions, and various sorts of wines. It is usually a passage of six
or seven days, being what is termed “a pleasant run down the trades,”
and consequently the finest sailing that is known: but, after all the
trials to which I have been exposed, I have not yet discovered that a
sea voyage can be made tolerable. To me the heaving water is itself the
bane of every comfort: even under this best and smoothest sailing, my
afflicted head and sickened stomach cause me to look anxiously for a
more settled element; and all my feelings more and more convince me that
the only circumstance which can render a passage by sea, in any way,
supportable is the anticipation of reaching a desired, and destined
shore.
We left Martinique on Wednesday, July 26th. A breeze sprang up in the
course of the first night, carrying us steadily on, without shifting a
sail, at the rate of seven knots an hour. On the third morning of our
passage, a strange sail was descried on our lee quarter, apparently
standing towards us, and gaining rapidly upon our vessel. It proved to
be a privateer, and we had the prospect of being conducted to a French
prison.
Being determined to resist if we should be attacked, the Roebuck was
instantly converted into a scene of spirited activity: but it not being
the duty of a packet to create delay, by inviting a combat, provided she
can outsail her antagonist, and proceed upon her passage, due
preparation was made both for running and fighting. Every possible sail
was set, the boarding-nets were put up, the sides and quarters deeply
lined with hammocks, canvass, and other materials to protect the men
from the fire of musketry; the guns were made ready, the swivels
pointed, and while every yard was got up, and every inch of canvass
stretched, all was cleared for action. The vessel was not manned equal
to a privateer; but we were a strong body of passengers, and not feeling
it a question of indifference whether to resist or be taken, it was
unanimously resolved, that in case we could not escape by flight, the
vessel should be fought to the last extremity.
Amidst the hurry, a scene occurred, which was highly ludicrous, and
afforded the sailors much amusement. Some of the passengers, with due
regard to the rapacity of the enemy, had recourse to an extraordinary
method of preserving their property. They ran to their trunks and
coffers, upon the first alarm, and took out their valuables in the form
of belts, and bandages, and waistcoats, and other articles of apparel,
all lined or quilted with gold and silver coins, and, stripping off
their common clothing, cased themselves in these metallic garments,
covering them with as many suits of their best clothes, as could be
drawn one over the other, until their figures assumed the grotesque
appearance of Dutch boatmen.
A French gentleman of venerable years, whose limbs had almost lost their
motive power, drew on, with the assistance of his sable dulcinea,
triplicates of apparel, and thus equipped, sat down and passed an
interval of suspense, muttering the expletive _Sacre! Sacre!_ and other
Gallic imprecations against the men in the tops, for not sooner
discovering the privateer; or, in other words, for not seeing her before
she was in sight!
We hauled upon a wind, and stood away more to the north—our pursuer did
the same, and still appeared to gain upon us. But about two o’clock the
breeze freshened, and the Roebuck sailing best upon a wind, we soon
began to distance our enemy. Before dinner-time we were evidently
getting a-head of the privateer, and the party sat down in restored
composure to their meal. In the evening, we had lost the view of our
adversary from the body of the ship, and on the following morning, the
vessel was no longer in sight, even from the topmast head; we therefore
continued our course. It is now the sixth day of our passage; and at
noon we were said to be under the lee of St. Domingo, distant about
thirty-eight leagues from Jamaica. To-morrow, if the breeze continue,
and we meet with no new disaster, we hope to drop our Anchor at
Port-Royal.
_Jamaica, Aug._
I resume my pen, in order to finish the letter which I began upon the
voyage. Taking up the subject in continuation, I may tell you that the
dawn of the first of August opened to us the mountains of Jamaica, and
exhibited a picturesque view of the island, throughout an extent of
thirty miles, as we sailed along the shore. At the part near Port-Morant
we observed the land to be in high cultivation nearly to the water’s
edge. It runs back in undulating ridges to a considerable distance, and
terminates in gigantic hills, which appear from the seaview to thrust
the cultivated fields upon the very brink of the ocean.
Approaching nearer to Port-Royal, a great part of the coast seemed to be
rough and ungenial, neither offering the rich fertility, nor the
exquisite landscapes we had been taught to look for in the island of
Jamaica.
The stupendous range of blue mountains presented an aspect of boldness
and sublimity; but upon carefully viewing the shore, as we passed along,
we thought it much inferior, in point of picturesque effect, to the
delightfully varied, but smaller island of Martinique.
The entrance of Port-Royal harbour, with the view of Kingston, the wide
plain on which it stands, and the towering mountains behind it, might
have appeared very grand and striking, if we had arrived from a less
interesting spot than the bay of St. Pierre; but the recollection of
this eclipsed all the fine scenery before us.
On coming to anchor I went on shore at Port-Royal, in order to make
inquiries respecting a conveyance to Cape St. Nicholas Mole. Upon
stepping out of the boat I found the heat greater than I had felt it, in
any climate, before: indeed the scorching rays reflected from the white
sand, seemed actually to burn my face as I walked along.
Not meeting with any success, I returned to the ship, and quickly
afterwards accompanied the captain and some of the passengers, in a
large open boat with sails, to Kingston. This was a run of seven miles.
From the breeze being strong, and the water rough, we were very early
made to taste the salt sprays of Jamaica; and were more wetted and
tossed about, in this petty passage, than we had been during the whole
of the voyage from Martinique. A great crowd of people thronged about
us, the instant we reached the landing-place, eagerly inquiring for
news, no packet having arrived in the course of the last ten weeks.
The general face of Kingston appeared widely different from the pleasant
town of St. Pierre. It is not so handsome, nor does it so much resemble
the venerable cities of Europe: but it is built with more regard to the
climate; the general plan of it being better adapted to a tropical
country. The streets are spacious. They run in straight lines, crossing
each other at right angles, preserving a regular and uniform figure. The
houses are commodious, and, from not being crowded together, a free
ventilation is every where preserved. They are mostly of brick, but some
are only of wood. They have commonly a shaded gallery or piazza in the
front, or entirely round them, which tends to keep them cool within,
while it affords to the inhabitants, at all times of the day, a pleasant
retreat from the sun. The dwellings have another, and peculiar
convenience in being allowed a sufficiency of land about them for the
purposes of a yard, stabling, offices, outhouses, and the like. But the
streets are the very reverse of the buildings, not yielding any sort of
relief or protection. Being spacious is all they can boast, for they are
deeply covered with loose sand, and are consequently hot, dusty, and
disagreeable in an extreme degree. Those whose lot it is either to walk,
or ride along them have no means of escape from these burning sands,
which serve to convert a large, and otherwise pleasant town into the
semblance of a scorching desert. The piazzas before the houses might
have been easily connected, so as to have formed a continued and shaded
walk throughout the whole of the town; but they are either railed in as
private property, or made irregular and of unequal height, so as to
prevent the pedestrians of these heated streets from availing themselves
of the shelter they offer. Thus the public is deprived of an
accommodation which might be had with facility; and which, in such a
climate, would contribute greatly to the comfort and convenience of
every individual.
Kingston stands upon more ground, and may be said to be larger than St.
Pierre; but the latter is far more populous, and contains perhaps a
greater number of houses. After being accustomed to the gay and crowded
streets of St. Pierre, Kingston has an air of dull quietude: but I am
writing from first impressions, according to the plan I have pursued of
noting circumstances as they occur to my observation; warning you,
therefore, to make all the allowances which such a mode of communication
requires, I proceed to tell you that the few people we meet upon the
streets, appear very different from those of the same classes, whom we
have been accustomed to see at the island we have recently left. Their
dress is not so neat, their manner is less cultivated, and they have not
the same air of cleanliness about them. The common people seem dirty,
and have a loose neglected appearance which is not observable at
Martinique. The people of colour differ, not only from those of the
French colonies, but also from those of the Dutch and English
settlements to windward. They preserve, in a degree, the costume of
their Spanish predecessors. In place of the neat short jacket, or the
white chemise and petticoat worn in the windward colonies, the women of
colour at Kingston are, for the most part, clad in unsightly yellow
petticoats, over which are hung loose and dirty bed-gowns. Upon the head
is commonly a handkerchief of many colours, and far from clean—not put
on with taste, as a turban, but pressed flat down with an ill-looking
kind of man’s hat—the whole forming a very slovenly and unbecoming
dress.
The men, instead of appearing in a neat jacket, or a clean shirt and
pantaloons, as at Martinique, are mostly habited in dirty, ragged
trowsers, with a long shirt, or a kind of loose frock hanging part of
the way over them. Upon mentioning these circumstances to a gentleman of
Kingston, he remarked that this negligent and unseemly costume prevailed
too generally “among the out-door slaves,” but that the house negroes
were far neater, and better ordered.
Indeed you will discover from what I have said of the town, that the
very streets are unfavorable to cleanliness, for the filthy sand soon
spreads itself over every part of a person’s apparel, and becomes
extremely annoying to the eyes and the countenance.
In walking through Kingston I observed an example of slavery unlike any
that had met my eye to windward—sixteen or eighteen negroes linked in a
sort of harness, and forming a regular team, were drawing an immense
trunk of mahogany, conducted by a driver with a cart-whip, who went
whistling at their side, and flogging them on, precisely as an English
carter does his horses. Negroes are also seen working upon the streets,
chained together in pairs. This we are told is established as a mode of
punishment for slight offences and misdemeanors.
These I beg you to regard as only the hasty observations of my first
hours at Jamaica. If I should have an opportunity before we embark for
St. Domingo, I will write again, and forward both letters by the next
packet.
Adieu.